Legacy
by Tom's Mum
Summary: Camille finds it difficult to cope with Richard's death.
1. Chapter 1

_Richard Poole was my favourite TV character in many years and I am thoroughly disgusted with the production company for killing him off when there were many other ways he could have left the series. But at least I thought they'd give him a decent exit, and give him and Camille a 'moment'. But no. It was hardly worth flying BM to Guadeloupe! As it seems clear from the jolly celebrations at the end that Richard will be soon forgotten (probably by next week) I felt impelled to pick up my virtual pen again, even though I said I wouldn't. So this short piece is by way of a valediction. I'm afraid there are an awful lot of tears!_

* * *

><p>Catherine looked up from the table she was polishing and the frown on her face instantly gave way to a welcoming smile.<p>

"Father Charles! We don't see you here very often! Come and sit down."

The priest returned her smile and lowered himself into one of chairs on the patio. "Well, to be honest, Catherine, I was just passing so I thought I would call in and see how you both are. I haven't seen you since the funeral, that must be – what? – six or seven weeks ago now. I was quite concerned about Camille at the time, how is she now?"

Catherine heaved a deep sigh and the frown returned to her face. "I tell you, Father, be careful what you wish for. For years and years I wished for Camille to meet the right man and fall in love, and finally she did – and now I have a daughter with a broken heart who is half out of her mind with grief."

"It's no better, then?"

She shook her head despondently. "It's as if she's sleepwalking through life. She does everything mechanically but there's no life there. It's as if she's dead too. I try to talk to her about it but every time she just breaks down in floods of tears. I'm at the end of my tether, Father, I just don't know what to do, how to help her."

"Where is she now?"

"Where she always is at this time of day. At the grave. It's morbid. I tell you, I sometimes wish that stupid solicitor hadn't found Richard's Will at the last minute, just as they were about to ship him back to England. His poor parents, they had no idea he wanted to be buried on Saint-Marie, so they had to drop everything and fly out here. Well, you know, you were there. And now of course it is the focus of all Camille's grief. White orchids, every day. It would have been better for her if he had been taken back home, as originally planned."

"But I think he felt the island had become his home", the priest interjected gently. "So it was surely the right place to bury him, wasn't it?"

Catherine blew her nose furiously. "Yes, I suppose so. I don't begrudge him his space on the hillside, Father. I was really very fond of Richard, though we didn't always see eye to eye, and it's so sad that he had to die like that, on his own, without his friends around him. But it's Camille I must think about. Father, do you think you could help her?"

The priest pressed her hands reassuringly as he got up from his chair. "I don't know, Catherine, but I'll try."

He made his way through the market place and slowly climbed the hill to the pretty whitewashed church that served the community of Honoré so well. He paused at the gate of the cemetery, thinking for perhaps the hundredth time that, with its wide views over the bay and the endless sea, it must be one of the most beautiful places on earth to be buried. Particularly if you came from Croydon. He walked down one of the paths and turned right, picking his way through the graves until he reached the very edge of the cemetery. Then he saw her.

Camille sat, as she always did, with her face pressed to the cool marble, her fingers tracing over and over again the name that was etched in gold on the black marble. The grave was in a secluded part of the cemetery, shaded by a chestnut tree. She had absolutely insisted that he be buried in the shade – she could not bear the thought of the sun beating down on him as relentlessly in death as it had in life. In fact she remembered little of the funeral, it had all passed in such a blur. His parents had come out unexpectedly: she recalled a rather mousy little woman clearly totally bewildered both by her surroundings and by Richard's friends and colleagues. She had sniffed dolefully throughout the service. His father had been made of sterner stuff and betrayed not one iota of emotion. They had wanted to meet her of course, particularly since the Will had been found. She had replied mechanically to their questions but it was obvious that, fond though they might have been of their son, they had no idea who he really was – they didn't _know_ him at all. She had pitied them. Then there had been that stupid woman Angela, who hadn't stopped crying from the moment the coffin arrived at the church to the point where the last sod was placed on the grave. She had kept going on and on about how she loved Richard. _Not as much as I did_, Camille had thought _and he loved me back. It was because you brought the reunion party to Saint-Marie that he died. _Angela would have to live with that for the rest of her life.

The Will had been a shock of course. Had she given the matter any thought – which of course she had not – she would have assumed that everything Richard had would go automatically to his parents. So when it was explained to her that – apart from some generous bequests to local island charities – his entire estate was bequeathed to her, she had collapsed in such an outpouring of raw grief that Catherine had feared for her sanity. The size of that estate had been another shock; she knew that on his last visit to the UK he had sold his house in Croydon but as she had no idea of the value of real estate in Greater London she was totally unprepared for the sums involved. Not that she wanted his money. It was no good to her now that he was gone and she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with it. And even less interest. She had no interest in anything, in fact. She just wanted to be here, close to him.

A twig cracked behind her and she looked up. "Hello, Father Charles" she said with a wan smile.

"What are you doing here, Camille?" he asked gently.

"Talking to Richard" she replied dully. "I tell him everything that's happening at the station, the cases we're working on. I tell him how much I miss him, how much I …" The tears began to spill over and soon she was shaking with sobs, clinging desperately to the black marble. The priest let her cry for a while, all the time stroking her hair gently, then put his arms round her and gradually eased her away. She leaned her head on his shoulder and took several shuddering breaths before finally subsiding.

"I'm sorry, Father. It's just that it's so _unfair._ He had so much left to give, he had only just started to relax, to love life, to love the island, to love me. It all ended before it had begun. We never really had a chance. Do you know how long we actually had together? Four days. Two whole lifetimes and we had just four days. I blame myself of course: I allowed myself to be distracted by all his annoying little habits (and he had plenty) and it took me far too long to discover what lay underneath and then when I finally did, when I finally realised that he was the one I had been looking for all my life, it was too late. If I'd only realised sooner this might still have happened but at least we would have had longer together. And now there's nothing left for me to do except grieve. Nothing to go on living for."

"There's your work, Camille. Isn't that worth living for? Don't you think Richard would want you to carry on where he left off, to be the very best police officer you can?"

She fought back more tears. "Yes, I suppose so. But it's so hard. There's Humphrey sitting at _his_ desk. Don't get me wrong, he's nice, he's smart, he's a good detective. But it should be Richard. And I'm afraid, I'm so afraid, that in a few months no-one will remember him any more."

"I'm sure no-one who knew him could ever forget him, Camille. But if you're worried, why don't you do something to safeguard his legacy? You have all his money, and I understand it's quite a considerable sum."

She looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what sort of projects do you think Richard would have wanted to support?"

"I … I don't know. Something to do with policing … or science, he was very keen on science."

He patted her hand. "Just give it some thought. I'll help you if you wish, but it would do you good to focus on something other than your grief. Don't get me wrong, I don't underestimate the pain you are feeling. I do understand, you know."

She wept a little more, then raised her drowning eyes to his face to ask "How long did you grieve for Delilah, Father?"

He spoke softly. "I still grieve for her, Camille, though it no longer consumes me. I found another outlet you see. God comforted me in my grief and He will comfort you too, if you let him."

She sat up abruptly and pulled herself away. "I'm sorry, Father, you are a kind man and I know you mean well, but how can I take comfort from a God who has allowed this to happen? Where was He looking when 'Sasha' grabbed that ice pick? What did Richard ever do to deserve such a fate?"

The priest sighed. "I understand, my child. Perhaps in time you will come to see things differently. Perhaps something will happen to restore your faith, just a little. I will pray that it does. But in the meantime you should not spend so much time here. It's not healthy and your mother is so worried about you."

"I know. I do try but the pain just overwhelms me. I loved him so much, Father, and everywhere I go there are places that I used to go with him and I just can't bear it. At least here I feel close to him."

"But you're only close to his mortal remains, Camille. His spirit is all around you, you know: try to see him in the trees, in the birds, in the flowers, in the sea, in the sky. See him everywhere, talk to him everywhere, not just here. You're a strong woman, you _will_ get over this."

She dragged herself to her feet and reached for his hands. "I'll try, Father, and thank you for your concern."

The next evening she did not visit the grave, but sat on the beach instead. She lifted her bottle and drank a silent toast to the man she had so cruelly lost. The man whom she had finally persuaded to sit on the sand with her and to wander through the surf. The man who had finally put his arm around her, the man who had finally kissed her and told her he loved her. She wept again as she remembered the first night they had spent together. He had been so gentle, so considerate, so loving and finally – once his confidence in her response had grown – so passionate that it had been the closest to perfect happiness she had ever experienced. Four nights, that was all they had had. He had never expected such joy from life, he had told her – he could not believe what he persisted in calling his good fortune. They had made plans for the future; they would get married, have a family, buy a house and settle down on the island. Four days and four nights. And then the reunion party had arrived.

She told herself she must be strong, that she would get used to life without him. But the longing to lay her head on his shoulder and to feel his arms around her again was overwhelming, though she knew it could never happen. Never, never, never.

It was too much. She flung the bottle away from her with the utmost force she could manage, buried her head on her knees and howled to the night.

* * *

><p>Another week passed and Catherine began to entertain a slim hope that her beloved daughter might be turning a corner. She was still exceptionally quiet and withdrawn, there were still frequent tears but the eye of the storm appeared to be passing. She was no longer visiting the grave every day and there were no more than two bunches of white orchids a week placed in the urn. As she told Father Charles, it might just be the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning.<p>

"Shall we go and find her?" he suggested. "I saw her earlier on her way to the cemetery with flowers."

They walked companionably up the hill to the little church. It was a beautiful day. For once, the heat was not too oppressive and the heavy scent of flowers hung in the air. They came across Camille not sitting clutching the grave stone as usual but standing in front of it, talking out loud. She appeared more animated than they had seen her since before Richard had died. They looked at each other in wonder. Coming closer they caught what she was saying.

" … if it's a girl I'll call her Lucy but somehow I feel sure it will be a boy and of course he will be Richard. And I promise I'll bring him up as you would have wanted. I'll bring him here every week so if your spirit is somewhere around you can watch him growing up. Perhaps he'll be a police officer, like his dad, or perhaps he'll be a scientist, who knows? And I promise I'll take him to England so he can get to know the country you loved and your parents, but his home will be here on Saint-Marie. He will never replace you in my heart but at least you will live on in him. And I'm going to put some of the money you left me in trust for him for when he grows up, but the remainder is going to form the Richard Poole Memorial Fund, which will pay for one young person a year to travel to England to study science at university. I hope you would have approved – I think you would. So that's it, my darling, and now I have to go and continue your work and be the best police officer I possibly can. But I know you'll always be here beside me to guide and comfort me when I need it – and I will – and you will always have my heart."

And she turned and walked straight into her mother's arms.

_I hope you enjoyed that. I for one feel better for writing it but I am not intending to write any more - at least not yet. But I will still be reading what everyone else writes. I wish you all the best for 2014. Will probably still watch DiP - have nothing against the new man, but the character is nowhere near as interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, as we all feared, Richard has been completely forgotten by episode 2. But not in my AU._

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><p>Camille climbed out of the taxi a little clumsily, picked up her suitcase and walked into her mother's restaurant with as much poise as she could manage.<p>

Catherine looked up from her place behind the bar where she was busy polishing glasses and smiled a welcome.

"Hello, chérie, have you had a good time? Did you do everything you wanted? It's nice to have you back."

Camille kissed her mother and gave her a hug. "Yes, it all went very well. I'll tell you about it later but first I have to go to the cemetery."

Catherine threw her hands in the air. "But you've only just got off the plane" she protested "and pregnant women need to rest."

"Not this one, maman! I've been sitting down for hours. I'll just unpack quickly but then I need to talk to Richard."

Half an hour later, having gulped down the beer that her mother insisted on pressing onto her, Camille was puffing her way up the hill to the little church and its pretty cemetery. She paused halfway up to catch her breath and ease her aching back and turned to admire the view over the sparkling sea. It really was a glorious spot and if Richard had to be buried anywhere she was so glad that it was here.

She made her way down the well tended paths to the shady corner that was the final resting place of DI Richard Poole. Although it was now some months since he had died, she never made this journey without a swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her as she drew near to the black marble gravestone with its simple inscription. She never ceased to grieve for the unfairness with which his life had been so brutally cut short, and for the shared future which they had been so cruelly denied.

But she was slowly becoming accustomed to living with the grief and it no longer devastated her as it had in those first dark weeks. Her changed state was due in no small measure, she was quite aware, to the new life that was growing within her. For the hundredth time she placed her hand on her swelling stomach and wondered what the child would be like. Most of all she hoped and prayed that he would at least look like Richard, albeit it with a darker skin and probably darker hair. She wanted so badly to see the man she had loved in his child that she worried she would not be able to bond with the baby if it took after her or her mother.

She reached the grave and smiled to see the potted plant that had been left there. Fidel. He had promised to look after Richard for her while she was away. She knew that he visited regularly and, though he wouldn't admit it, so did Dwayne from time to time. Both officers still badly missed their Chief though they were professional enough to carry on with their duties regardless. "It's what he would have wanted" explained Fidel, and Camille knew that he was right.

So they worked amicably enough with Humphrey, the new DI, and if eyes were rolled and eyebrows raised at his lack of organisation and general clumsiness, it was at least done behind his back. None of them disliked Humphrey but he was not Richard. He was not their Chief. Not yet, anyway.

Camille plopped down on the ground and reached into the carrier bag she was carrying. She carefully dug a hole, fetched some water, and tenderly inserted the plant she had brought, firming the soil down around it and wiping her hands in the grass afterwards.

"There, Richard. See, I've brought you this rose back from England. It's called Remember Me and it's a beautiful orangey-red colour. I hope you like it and that it will remind you of home – or what used to be your home anyway. It's nice and shady here so hopefully it will survive the heat. I told you I was going to England before I got too big to travel and I did everything I wanted to. I went to Leicestershire to see your parents. They are well and your mother is so thrilled about the baby. She's really sweet. She and your father are going to come over to Saint-Marie when it's born, and of course I'll bring them here to see you on your hill. I spent ages talking to them, I told them all about the murders you solved and your mother cried a lot. I don't think they really knew you very well and they certainly hadn't realised how brilliant you were, and how decent and how good. I told your dad that you thought he was disappointed in you, and he was astonished. He said he was incredibly proud of you. It's just a shame that he didn't say it while you were here to appreciate it, but at least you know now.

Anyway, then I went to visit your old school. Did you know it has been turned into a very smart hotel and spa? Not much left apart from the shell of the building but your mother gave me some old photos so I was able to imagine what it would have been like. Not a nun in sight, though. And from there I went to Croydon, to see your house. I knocked on the door and the guy who bought it from you was very kind and let me have a look round. He said he hadn't changed it much so I got a good feel for where you used to live. I thought it was a nice little house.

And from there I called in at the police station and spoke to some of your old colleagues who were still there. They were sorry about what happened to you, especially after the Doug Anderson episode, which they had heard about. I think you went up in their estimation after that – they were a bit sheepish and admitted that they hadn't been as kind to you as they might have been. I sort of understood but found it hard to forgive them.

And then finally of course I had to go to Clacton-on-Sea. That was the hardest part of the whole trip. All the time I kept thinking that I should be doing this with you, that you should be showing me your country and the bits that mattered to you. But I did feel that you were there walking beside me and that helped. Except at Clacton. The weekend you promised me that we never had. I found the caravan site – it still has a great view out to sea and I can understand why you loved it there. But I think the town has changed since your day – it looks a bit sorry for itself now. I sat on the beach and cried a lot. Well, I cried a lot all through the trip really but Clacton was the worst. But I'm glad I went. At least I now know the places that meant the most to you, my darling. And I'll take your son to see them too when he's old enough. And it's definitely a 'he' by the way – the latest scan shows that clearly. And he's grumpy like his dad – he keeps kicking me.

Well, I suppose I had better go and get ready for work tomorrow. Humphrey says I should take it easy but I'm not ready to sit down and put my feet up yet. You'll be pleased to know that he's looking after Harry OK – the two seem to have bonded quite well. If Harry is missing you he doesn't show it, but that's lizards for you – give them mango and bugs and they're anybody's! Humphrey is doing all right, I think. He's a nice man and I'm sorry he's lost his wife. I think he misses her more than he lets on. But he's not you, even though he sits at your desk. He's a good detective, yes, but he doesn't have your brilliance and your encyclopaedic knowledge of everything. Though he probably does know who Beyoncé is. And he's not as witty as you were. In fact, he's pretty one-dimensional, though I admit we could do a lot worse and no doubt we'll get used to him in time.

Anyway, my darling, time to go. You know I'll love you always if I live to be 100 and I'll never never forget you or the times we had together, even though they were so short. See you again soon."

She got up and stood for a moment before the black marble, then gathered up her possessions and marched purposefully down the hill. Reaching the little town of Honoré she was strangely reluctant to return to La Kaz and made her way instead down onto the beach, where she bought an ice cream and propped herself on one of the boats drawn up on the sand. It was not the beach outside the shack – she never sat there now. She only ever went to the shack to collect Humphrey and she never went beyond the veranda. She didn't want to see the clutter that she was sure the new DI had introduced and most specifically she did not want to see the bed that she had shared with Richard rumpled with Humphrey's sheets.

She sat licking her ice cream and found herself idly watching a couple as they walked along in the surf. After a while the woman slipped her hand into the man's and he turned and smiled at her. They reached the end of the beach and stopped, staring out to sea. Then the woman said something and the man slid his arm round her waist. She twisted to face him, wrapping her arms round his neck and they kissed. Suddenly Camille found the tears streaming and streaming down her face. It was as if she was watching a ghost from her past. A different beach. Two different people. But the same scenario.

"Why me, Camille?" he had said after she first told him she loved him. "You could have any man on the island. There are hundreds of other men out there: younger, better looking, more fun and certainly with better social skills. So why me? I'm over the moon of course, but I don't understand."

"It's partly because you need to ask that question. No-one else would. But you're different. Yes, men are two a penny, but most are pretty shallow. They're only interested in me because I'm good-looking and they want everyone to know they have an attractive girlfriend. But not you. It doesn't matter to you, how I look, does it?"

"Camille, I'd love you if you looked like the back end of a bus. I love you because … um … because you're kind and sensitive and funny and … um … and you've taken the trouble to get to know me and … oh God I'm no good at this … but definitely not because you're beautiful. Though of course you are. Stunning."

She had smiled and nestled closer. "Well, there we are then. We seem to have found each other, despite all our differences. You make me feel safe, Richard, and I love it that you're such a caring person, even though you don't always show that side of you to the world. I think we'll be good together. I think the things that make us such a good team at detection will make us a great couple. Don't you agree?"

He nuzzled her hair. "Yes. As you know, as a rule I'm not one for predictions but I think I can safely say that the future is looking pretty rosy."

And so it had been. Of course he couldn't have known that the future would only last four days.

Camille wiped her tears and looked round for the couple she had been watching. They were nowhere in sight. She began to wonder if they had ever been there at all or just a figment of her over-active imagination. But footprints in the sand convinced her. Well, she thought sadly, I just hope that their future lasts a little longer than ours did.

Baby Richard aimed a particularly hefty kick at her. "Ouf! I hope you're not going to be a troublesome baby or I shall have to have words with your father."

Composed again, she hoisted herself back on her feet and made her way slowly back to her mother's bar.


	3. Chapter 3

It was hard work pushing the shiny new buggy up the hill with the sun beating down mercilessly, but Camille persevered. Little by little. Another few metres and then another pause to catch her breath. She would soon be there.

Her mother had thought she was crazy. "Mon Dieu, you've only just come out of hospital, you should be resting, not charging around."

But Camille had been determined. She had promised herself that the very first thing she would do once she got home would be to take the baby to visit Richard, and she would do it if it killed her. Not that there was any likelihood of that: the birth had been remarkably easy, given the narrowness of her hips, and she felt fine, if a little sore.

She peered anxiously into the buggy. The baby remained fast asleep, oblivious to his surroundings. She never got tired of looking at him, though when he was first born she had hardly dared to sneak a glance, so terrified had she been that he would look like her not Richard. But she need not have worried. Baby Richard had certainly inherited her nose and hair colour but his eyes were bluey-green and he had a little lopsided smile that nearly broke her heart. His skin was surprisingly pale too – she supposed he must have inherited her mother's genes as well as Richard's.

One final push and she got to the top of the hill. She paused for a moment, as she always did, to admire the stunning view, then parked the buggy at the gate and picked up the small bundle which was all that remained to her in this world of DI Richard Poole. The baby protested a little, but soon settled back into sleep in his mother's arms.

She picked her way carefully along the path until she reached the grave she sought. She was pleased to see that the rose bush she had planted was in full bloom with its glorious orange blossoms. It had taken some effort to encourage it to survive in the climate but it had definitely been worth it, she thought. She noticed with a smile that while she had been in hospital Fidel had refreshed the jug of white orchids which always kept Richard company. Dear Fidel. He didn't say much but she knew how keenly he missed the man who had been not only his mentor but also something of a father figure. However well he got on with DI Goodman (and he did, he was a good cop and did his job to the very best of his ability), Humphrey would never replace Richard – Fidel would never look up to and admire him in the same way.

"Well, Richard" she began "here we are, and this is your son, just as I promised – Richard Poole Bordey. He's so beautiful and quite perfect. I know all mothers think their babies are beautiful but he really is, everyone says so. He's going to grow up to break a few hearts, I think. And I see you in him every time I look at him. I emailed some photos to your parents and your mother sent me back some pictures of you when you were newborn. I can definitely see the likeness, even though his skin is obviously darker than yours was.

I'll be staying home with him for the first six months or so but then I'm going back to work. Juliet is going to look after him for me, so he'll be growing up with Rosie. I like that idea and I think you would too. And who knows, perhaps one day he and Rosie will find for themselves what _we_ once had. I'm not going to have him baptised – I've thought long and hard about this. Something tells me that you wouldn't want him growing up a Catholic, so I'm just going to bring him up with some general Christian principles and then when he's old enough he can choose for himself whether or not he wants to become a member of the Catholic Church or the Church of England. I hope that's what you would want – _maman_ doesn't approve at all, of course. But she's just thrilled to have a grandchild at last and you can be sure she will be a doting grandmother. And your parents are coming over next week to meet him too.

I promise I'll do my best to be a good mother and to bring him up as you would have wished. A good mixture of science, reason, instinct and emotion. If he has all those, he should turn out to be a wonderful boy. I'm just heartbroken that he will never get to meet his father, though of course I'll tell him all about you and he will be able to read about the cases you solved in the Museum. Yes, you have become something of a celebrity on Saint-Marie: the Director of the Museum wants to devote a small corner to you and your exploits, as you are far and away the most famous detective the island has ever had. I've donated your suit and tie and briefcase and Fidel and Dwayne are writing up all the case notes, so you will take your rightful place next to those pirates that you so despised.

Oh, and Father Charles and I have found the first recipient of the Richard Poole Memorial Scholarship. There's a boy in his final year at school and he has a place at De Montfort University in Leicester, near where your parents live, to study Forensic Science. He's the perfect candidate and we have decided to make the first award to him. I think you would be pleased.

I've kept Lucy and some of your books for baby Richard, when he is old enough. And of course I still have your pajamas next to me under the pillow in my bed. I so loved seeing you in them, they are just so _you_. I guess I'll keep them until they just disintegrate."

She stopped and silently contemplated the marble stone in front of her. Before she knew it the tears were once more running down her face. "Oh Richard, this isn't how we planned it, how it was supposed to be. Why aren't you here with me? Why do I have to raise our son alone?"

The baby stirred in her arms and gurgled. Her heart twisted when she saw the lopsided smile she had loved so much. She remembered the very last time she had seen it. He had asked her, yet again, if she was quite sure she wanted to be with him. No matter how many times she reassured him, he had always found it difficult to accept that out of all the men in the world she, Camille Bordey, had really chosen him, Richard Poole.

"Why do you find it so difficult to believe that I love you, Richard, and always will?" she had asked, half in despair.

There had been a long pause, and she had thought that he wasn't going to answer. He had stared fixedly at his feet but finally had raised his head to look at her and had spoken in a low and halting voice.

"When I was at school I wasn't popular. That won't surprise you at all, I'm sure. I was awkward, different to the others, had no social skills – well, you know it all. And I knew it of course. I so wanted to belong, to be accepted, but I didn't know how to go about it. The other boys teased and bullied me mercilessly, and my self-confidence was pretty much at rock bottom. And I had a bad case of acne, which didn't help either. Then there was this nun – yes, the same one – our house mistress. She was haranguing me one day for some petty misdemeanour and she told me to take a look in the mirror and that no woman would ever want someone like me. She was probably just being spiteful but I was at such a low ebb and at such an impressionable age that I believed her. And I guess it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. There was a girl at university that I was very keen on, but she didn't want to know, and I sort of thought well, Sister was obviously right, no point in trying any more, and I just gave up. And then you came along and … magically … everything changed and I thought perhaps, perhaps … but then you were so beautiful, out of my league, I felt. And now … I'm trying, really trying, to believe … to believe that a miracle could happen but all the time at the back of my mind I can still hear Sister's voice and … and it's been so many years and I … I can scarcely dare to hope that this time it's for real."

She had been crying before he had even finished and hugged him so tightly he could hardly breathe. "This _is _for real, Richard, my poor Richard. So many years believing no-one could possibly love you. That awful woman was wrong, completely wrong. How could she poison a young life like that? Well, at least you know now that there is _one_ woman who most definitely _does_ want you and always will. Is that enough convince you?"

He had nodded slowly and that was when the crooked smile had lit up his face. She had thrown herself into his arms for the longest kiss they had ever shared. That had been the day before the reunion party had arrived. The day before …

She dabbed haphazardly at her eyes but it was too difficult while holding the baby so in the end just stood and let the tears fall uninterrupted. Eventually the flow ceased and with an effort she composed herself again.

"So, Richard, there will always be a part of me that lives in the past, but you must understand that I have our son to take care of and must look to the future now. Rest in peace, my darling, and we'll see you again soon."

And with a final, lingering glance she turned away to start the rest of her life.


End file.
